Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 08] - Sanguinet's Crown (4 page)

"Don't be silly, of course it was. And I fancy he must know my
brother-in-law, because of the way he asked for him just now. Where
have you put him?"

"The green room, miss. In view of Mr. Redmond's injuries, I
fancy his man had best stay with him. Would you wish that I send for
the doctor?"

"Yes, please do." Charity said uneasily, "I hope this business
will not upset my sister.''

Fisher's thoughtful gaze drifted down her rumpled gown.
Following his eyes, she exclaimed, "Oh my! I must hurry and change."

Fisher said with a twinkle, "Yes, miss. I fancy the sight of
you just now would be a
decided
shock for Miss
Rachel.''

"And we must allow nothing to alarm her at this particular
time, must we, Fisher?"

They exchanged understanding smiles, then Charity started up
the stairs. She had taken only a few steps, however, when a rapid
pounding from below was followed by a startled exclamation from Fisher.
Charity turned back, having first taken the precaution of clinging to
the rail.

A tawny tornado galloped full-tilt up the stairs. Tongue
lolling, powerful paws flying, ears back, the large grinning bulldog
tried to jump into her unavailable lap, rebounded down three steps,
gambolled up again, succeeded in wiping his long tongue around her
chin, turned around in midair, landed heavily, and stood stock-still.
He had caught a new scent.

Charity, who had been angrily adjuring the dog to "behave,"
glanced at Fisher in amazement. "My heavens! I do believe he is obeying
me."

"Perhaps," suggested Fisher, straightening the cravat that had
become disordered when he was flung against the wall, "he knows that—"

His words were cut off. With every indication of a dog
defending his mistress against a murderous threat, Brutus hurled his
challenge up the stairs. Charity threw her hands over her ears and
commanded the "bad dog'' to be quiet. Fisher added his own exhortations
to the din, and two downstairs maids joined in the howl for silence.
Brutus quite enjoyed it, but he tended to become bored very rapidly,
and, deciding that enough was as good as a feast, ceased his roars and
trotted sedately down the stairs and across the hall towards the
kitchen.

The humans sighed with relief. Fisher signalled to the maids,
and they departed. Charity wondered uneasily why Brutus had taken so
violent a dislike to Mitchell Redmond.

Charity's abigail was putting the last deft touches to her
hair when the door opened and Rachel entered. No one, seeing them
together, could have the slightest doubt but that they were related,
but the likeness was manifest in the fragile build that was
characteristic of all three Strands, in their mannerisms and grace of
movement, rather than in any marked similarity of features. Rachel
Strand Leith's hair was a light dusty brown, containing none of the red
tints that caused Charity's locks to be termed sandy. A famed beauty,
Rachel had a shapely figure that was just beginning to betray the fact
that she carried her first child, but if anything, approaching
motherhood lent a deeper radiance to the delicate features, only a
slight trace of fatigue marring her loveliness.

Just now, her deep blue eyes clouded with anxiety, she hurried
to Charity saying,"Dearest? What is this I hear about your having
become involved in a duel and arriving home covered with blood? Are you
all right?"

"Oh, but how vexing of them to worry you so!" Charity stood to
hug her. "I particularly wished to spare you any alarm." She dismissed
her abigail and when the girl had left them, asked,"Was it Best told
you such stuff? I vow be gossips like an old woman!"

"No, it was not Best.'' Rachel allowed herself to be guided to
the sofa in the adjoining parlour. "And I'll not betray my source of
information, so never try to worm it out of me. Come, Charity. Sit here
beside me and do not try to fob me off with fustian, as Fisher did."

Seating herself obediently, Charity explained, "All I did was
try to help a—er, gentleman, who had been hurt in a duel." She knew her
hesitation had been noted, and added resignedly, "Oh, very well. I'll
own I had sooner describe him as a boor, for a more arrogant,
ill-mannered, ungrateful wretch I never met!"

"
Mitchell Redmond
?" Considerably
astonished, Rachel exclaimed, "Why, he is the very nicest boy. I've not
seen him for years, but as I recollect he was so well featured as to
take one's breath away."

"And still is. Though not nearly so handsome as your Tristram.
And I hope you may not be disappointed when you meet him, for I can
assure you that his disposition does not at all equate with his looks.
Unless you could like an acid-tongued cynic."

Rachel was quite aware that her sunny-natured sister very
seldom took anyone in such deep dislike. Perplexed, she said slowly,
"I've heard a few rumours, of course, but set little store by them. You
know what the gabblemongers are. The Mitchell I knew was shy and
gentle, and most shockingly absent-minded, which used to drive his poor
brother fairly into the boughs. He was quite a scholar and always had
that handsome head stuck into a book. Now they say he is become a rake,
which I
cannot
believe! Why, I recall meeting him
in Town once, just before Justin went out to India, and who should
chance to trip past but Dorothy Haines-Curtis. She spent at least ten
minutes simpering and fluttering and flirting, while Mitchell grew red
as any lobster and was so aghast he all but sank through the pave!
Justin thought it hilarious, but Mitchell was truly embarrassed to
death."

Charity tried vainly to visualize Mr. Redmond in such a state,
and asked dubiously, "Are you quite sure, love? His brother is quite
well thought of, I know, for he was a war hero. Could you be confusing
them?"

"Heavens, no! No one could do so, for they are totally unlike.
Harry is the dashing one. I think you have not met him?"

"No. But Justin says that Harry Redmond is a splendid fighting
man, and Jeremy Bolster once spent ten minutes trying to tell me
something about Sir Harry; it was to do with a false charge that had
been levelled against him, I believe, but I couldn't quite understand
it all. You know how Jeremy is." She paused, it becoming apparent that
Rachel was not attending. She asked, "What is it, dear? You are not
worried about Mr. Redmond?"

Rachel started. There
had
been something
about Harry Redmond a year or so back. At the time she had been
absorbed with rearranging Cloudhills and adjusting to her newly married
state, but there had been quite a scandal, and she was
sure
it had to do with one of the Sanguinets. Apprehension touched her,
causing her heart to flutter, but she did not mean to worry Charity
over such vague trifles and so responded hurriedly, "How rude of me to
go wool-gathering! No, I was thinking about Tristram.''

"I might have known," said Charity, laughing at her. "And what
has he been doing to bring so troubled a look?"

Rachel's blue eyes softened as they always did when she spoke
of her husband. "Nothing really, except"—she blushed faintly and looked
away—"these late weeks he has been a touch uneasy, you know. Which is
so silly, because although I was a little unwell just at first, I am
healthy as any horse."

"Cart-horse," amended Charity with a twinkle, but she was less
amused than she seemed. Her large brother-in-law was, she knew,
desperately afraid. His courtship of her sister, at a time when Rachel
had been betrothed to that horrid Claude Sanguinet, had been as
perilous as it was unorthodox, and had not only almost cost him his
life, but had resulted in disgrace and social ostracism for them both.
Despite such an unfortunate beginning, their marriage had been
blissful, marred only by Tristram's dread that the fulfilment of his
hopes for children might also take from him his beloved wife. He had
come near to fainting with shock when Rachel had gently broken to him
that she was in a delicate condition, and he had subsequently guarded
her with ill-disguised apprehension. It was true that the early weeks
had not gone very smoothly. Nonetheless, Rachel had always enjoyed
excellent health and when her time came would doubtless present her
husband with a sound and beautiful baby. If Mitchell Redmond's arrival
could turn poor Tristram's thoughts in another direction, thought
Charity, the wretched creature might serve a useful purpose after all.
"I wonder,'' she murmured, "what brought Mr. Redmond here."

"I fancy Tristram will find out just as soon as Dr. Bellows
has gone. I was so startled to see his chaise in the yard. And you
shall not fob me off any longer, Charity. What
is
all this about a duel?"

The Honourable Tristram Leith's swinging cavalryman's stride
slowed as he rounded the corner of the first floor hall. Dr. Bellows
had paused outside the green guest chamber, a puzzled expression on his
face as he stared at the closed door. The little doctor was, in fact,
so lost in thought that he jumped violently when Leith came up with him
to enquire, "Have you finished with our guest, sir?"

"Goodness me!'' exclaimed Bellows, almost dropping his bag.
"How you do creep up on a fellow, Leith!" And peering up into the
smiling countenance of the young man who dwarfed him, he said with less
heat, "I have, but—he's a peculiar fellow. D'you, ah, know him well?"

"Don't believe I've ever met him. Is he very bad?"

"I wonder…" murmured the doctor inexplicably. Then, as if
recovering his wits, he ran a hand through his thinning, reddish hair
and drew Leith a few paces along the hall. "Bad? Oh no. Nasty cut. Lost
some blood. I had to perpetrate some of me famous embroidery on the
poor chap, which he endured bravely enough. All in all, it's more
painful than serious. Funny, though." He pulled at his lower lip and
muttered half to himself, "That back…"

"Back?" echoed Leith, curious. "I'd understood Mr. Redmond was
hurt in a duel.''

"What? Oh—likely you're right." The doctor smiled absently,
said his farewells, promised to call tomorrow, and hurried off.

With the odd feeling that they had been talking at cross
purposes, Leith watched the little man Stamp down the hall, then turned
and quietly entered the bedchamber.

Redmond lay on his side. His lean face was pale and had a look
of exhaustion, but he heard the door open, and his long grey eyes
watched the visitor levelly.

There was a trace of guardedness about that steady stare, and
again conscious of being caught in an unexpected current, Leith said,
"I was told you wished to see me directly. Shall it tire you if I come
in now?"

"Probably," Redmond answered. "But I must talk with you, as
you should be aware."

Puzzled by the note of impatience, Tristram drew up a
straight-backed chair and straddled it. "If you mean by reason of your
turning our lands into a duelling ground…" he said with his friendly
smile.

Redmond's lips twisted sardonically. "I take it you have noted
that I am, most uncomfortably, lying on my side."

"Yes. Dr. Bellows informed me that you had suffered a cut on
your back."

"Did he?" In a bored tone but with his eyes very intent,
Redmond drawled, "May I ask what more your estimable physician had to
impart?"

"That the wound is not serious. And he will come and see you
tomorrow."

Redmond watched him thoughtfully. He'd heard that Justin
Strand was a man of driving energy and likeable but uncertain
temperament. The mental image he'd formed did not match this poised
young giant whose deep voice was a lazy drawl, and who must have been
very good-looking before the right side of his face was scarred. Just
now his expression was calm but there was reservation in the dark eyes
and, amused, Redmond said by way of explanation, "I am very agile, you
see."

Leith responded with courtesy, if not complete veracity, "And
I am notoriously lacking in curiosity."

"Fustian! You're likely thinking I turned tail and ran."

It was said whimsically rather than in anger, and Leith
responded with a grin. "I'll own the cut in your britches surprised me."

"Not so damned much as it surprised me!"

He looked indignant, but Leith eschewed the obvious question.
"How you conduct your duels is—"

Redmond made an impatient gesture. "I have, as you're
doubtless aware, conducted several. However, I ain't yet so foolhardy
as to take on three men at once."

"The devil you say! It was
not
a duel?"

"Very shrewd."

Leith stiffened, thinking, "Impertinent cub!" and wondering
why he had expected to meet a mild-mannered scholar. With a veneer of
frost on his voice, he said, "May I ask if it is your custom to wear a
small-sword when you travel?"

"Scarcely." Quite aware of the changed tone, Redmond smiled
faintly. "I've discovered, though, that in case of emergency a pistol
can be fired only once."

So the man had been expecting trouble. Perhaps he carried
valuables about his person. Leith asked, "Thieves?"

Surprised, Redmond turned painfully on the pillows and settled
back with a cautious exhalation of breath. Good gad! If the man really
thought it had been thieves, then he knew nothing and this must be
handled very carefully indeed. "Have you another suggestion?" he
countered, probing.

In view of the fact that this individual was apparently
something of a duellist, Leith answered dryly, "I can think of several
possibilities."

To Redmond that remark suggested that this man might be
playing a deep game. In which event, he would brave the water after
all. Watching for the reaction, he said a tentative, "I came here
because I'd a letter from"—he dared not say "Diccon"—"from the Trader."

Racking his erratic memory, Leith could recall no Trader. "Did
you?"